


A Knight's Tale

by aleksrothis



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Boston Bruins, Gen, Goalie Bonding, Hockey Holidays 2018, Treat Fic, Vegas Golden Knights, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 01:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17214131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: Malcolm never expected to have to do this without Ser Flower but, when his mentor is injured in tourney, he prepares to do his best to fill his shoes.  Flower, of course, has his own ideas on how to help.





	A Knight's Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remiges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/gifts).



> For remiges - loosely inspired by your prompt of 'warrior apprenticeships' which led me down the route of the Golden Knights being, well, actual knights. I hope you enjoy it!

Malcolm creeps into Ser Flower's rooms. It is the middle of the day and he is supposed to be taking his rest before the upcoming bout but he needs Flower’s reassuring presence. 

The rooms are dim; the drapes all closed and no candles lit for the sake of Flower’s head. As Malcolm approaches the bed, he can hear Flower’s steady breathing and it settles something inside him.

“I can't do this without you,” he whispers, kneeling beside the bed, not wanting to wake Flower and to see his drawn face. He wasn't supposed to be ready to lead the battle alone: when the King had granted Vegas the right to hold tourneys, Malcolm hadn't even been one of those originally chosen to fill their ranks but, when the court of Boston had decided he wasn't ready and prepared to send him back to the Providence training grounds, Vegas had offered him an opportunity Malcolm wasn’t sure he deserved. Knight Pickard had been intended to be Flower’s Second but instead he had been sent to Toronto and Malcolm felt entirely unworthy to take his place.

All that would have been enough, until Flower had taken an unexpected blow to the head in their tourney against Detroit from their young wizard, Mantha, in his eagerness to pass Flower once his spell had frozen him. Flower had finished the bout but it was clear he was suffering and he had taken ill in the night.

The league's healers do an excellent job, having access to all the latest charms and potions but even the most talented of them refuse to risk worsening brain injury so all they can offer him is relief of pain.

Now Malcolm will have to face his old allies from Boston in tourney with only a day's notice.

He feels disloyal for preferring Ser Flower’s warm smiles over his previous mentor, Ser Rask’s hawk-eyed stare. _His_ smiles had been hard-earned, as had praise from the fierce Captain Chara who led Boston's forces, but Malcolm appreciates his new mentor’s kindness more.

Even though Malcolm knows how kind-hearted Captain Chara could be away from the battlefield, he still little wished to face his hammer blows, which he had seen fell many opponents, even in friendly tourney, as this was supposed to be. There were always rumors that Boston's captain had giant blood and he could well believe it.

Malcolm rests his head against the blankets and tells the sleeping knight all the concerns he would never have burdened him with if Flower was awake.

“I still have so many questions for you,” he says. “You were supposed to tell me all your tips for whoever it was I would first face.”

Admittedly, Boston were probably the company Malcolm was most prepared to battle against. They wouldn't have changed all their tactics in the few short weeks he'd been gone.

“I thought you’d be there to distract me from my nerves and stop me taking it all too seriously. I don't know if I can do it alone,” he admits.

Flower seems to shift in his sleep and Malcolm holds his breath but he gives no other sign of waking.

It wasn't as though Malcolm was entirely alone; Ser Prior, their drill instructor, would still be able to advise him on technique but he didn't have Flower's personal experience of the league and he certainly didn't have Flower's force of personality. It would be enough, but it wasn't the same.

“You were supposed to be there to watch me and tell me what I did wrong,” Malcolm continues. "I'm going to miss you out there. I’m not cut out for being anyone’s mentor, not yet.” Lord Gallant had sent to Chicago for a Second but, whoever it was, they would be as green as Malcolm himself.

Finally, when he runs out of words, the dark, still room giving the feeling no time has passed, Malcolm feels lighter. He pulls himself to his feet, taking one last look at Flower’s pale face, turned away from him, creased with pain even in his sleep. On an instinct, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Flower's temple. “Come back soon, milord. I'll do my best, but I'm not you.”

Then he slips away to his own quarters where he is able to finally sleep.

*

The next day as they prepare for the bout - squires helping the full knights into their armor, checking the condition of their weapons, all discussing tactics - no-one mentions Ser Flower's absence directly but they all stop to pat Malcolm’s shoulder and wish him luck, assuring him they will fight to keep Boston's forces away from him. Wizard Karlsson even gives him a talisman, though it is just to help settle his nerves since actual luck charms are forbidden.

Traditionally most tourneys hadn't permitted magecraft at all, with some exceptions, such as the legendary Datsyuk of Detroit, as they feared for the safety of the more delicate casters but, as wizards had been increasingly involved when it came to battle, it had been deemed a necessary risk. And they had proved a worthwhile addition. 

They cast flashy magics, which were little use in actual battle, to entertain audiences and, whilst it had been decided that actual physical contact with the standard was still required to score a point, their ability to freeze or force off-balance the guardian knight even at range had brought about improved defensive tactics.

Most of those who fought at tourneys would never see actual battle but even observers could take lessons from the tactics demonstrated on the field. Malcolm's brother had gone to war many times, as had Ser Flower, but Malcolm himself had only been called the once. 

The skirmishes he had overseen there, newly given his spurs, had been of green troops on both sides. His throat felt tight at the thought of giving orders now, as he had then, to some of the veterans he would be technically in charge of here.

The two sides take the field for preliminary maneuvers, a chance for the crowds to see who had come and decide who to offer their favors.

Malcolm does his best to tune the crowd out. Ser Prior is a steady reassuring presence on the lists but Malcolm still wished for Flower's warmth and good cheer.

They take a break before the contest begins and Malcolm ducks back into the pavilion, then pulls up short. “You're not supposed to be here.”

Flower isn't dressed for tourney, wearing a loose tunic and hose, with a broad-brimmed cap protecting his eyes. He smiles, that crooked grin that Malcolm can't help responding to. “I wanted to wish you luck.”

Malcolm isn't sure he can take this softer side of his mentor so he looks around for a distraction. His helmet is tipped onto its side and he frowns. “Have you actually come to prank me?”

Flower gives him a wide-eyed look of innocence, but Malcolm has seen that before, even after he'd watched him fill Ser Nealer's gauntlets with blancmange.

Still, he doesn’t have time to argue as the cry goes up for the start of the bout. Malcolm snatches up his helmet and hurries out to the meadows without a backwards glance.

It is an honour to wear the gold helmet of the First but Malcolm’s hands are still shaking as the two sides line up to salute Lords Gallant of Vegas and Sweeney of Boston.

At the lists stands Lagace, still just a squire, freshly recalled from Chicago's training grounds, and looking as nervous as Malcolm feels. Malcolm reminds himself that even the lowliest warrior on the field of tourney was either nobly-born or chosen at a young age for the talent they had displayed - Lagace isn't a novice when it comes to these bouts. Besides he doesn’t have the time to worry about anyone but himself.

Malcolm sets his back to their colors, plants his feet and poleaxe. He is as ready as he is going to get. Then the bugle sounds and they’re off.

It starts slow, Boston still feeling him out, as though the past month might have changed his fighting style to be unrecognizable. Perhaps it has but soon he gets swept up in the flow of the tourney; each flow and riposte, each push and retreat, every spell cast and countered. He feels in control, calling advice to Vegas’ forces every time they pull back towards him or are forced to defend a rush.

He finds himself searching for Flower in the crowd at every stoppage. Even though he knows there is no way the other knight should be present, Malcolm would swear he can feel Flower's gaze upon him, just like at practice.

Wizard Marchand tests him with a spell Malcolm has watched overpower many a knight but he holds steady. Each thwarted attempt gives him more confidence and he can almost hear Flower’s words of encouragement.

They take a break and then the pace picks up but Vegas are the only ones to break through to reach their opponent's standard.

Malcolm had expected Boston to redouble their efforts after the second break but the anticipated attack doesn't come, his defenders repeatedly forcing Boston to split their attack, pushing them back.

Knight Rask withdraws to grant them an extra fighter and that allows Wizard Pastrnak to break past but it stands as Boston's only point and somehow the contest ends with Vegas victorious.

Malcolm is shaking with equal parts elation and exhaustion. He doesn’t see Flower there after the match, but he isn't given time to look for him. Instead he is called back to the lists where the heroes of the tourney receive their accolades from the nobles gathered and Malcolm is thrilled to be granted the second honors.

Flower isn't present in the noisy pavilion as the company disarmor and prepare to celebrate their victory, nor at the feast which follows but, when Malcolm finally returns to his quarters, Flower is sitting in his armchair waiting for him, the room lit only by a single lamp.

“You fought well,” Flower tells him.

“I thought you weren't supposed to watch,” Malcolm says, feeling a rush of concern.

Flower smiles his lopsided smirk. “I have my ways.”

Malcolm frowns but then he notices the crystal at Flower’s throat and how the mirror glass has been turned to face the chair.

“So that's what you were doing with my helmet!”

Scrying spells aren’t difficult to cast but they require a connection both ways. It was probably easy for Flower to get hold of some of Malcolm’s hair, but getting something of his onto Malcolm had required that little more subterfuge.

“I promised you I’d be there for your debut tourney,” Flower explains. “I didn’t want to let you down.”

Malcolm surprises them both by embracing the older knight. “You never could. I wouldn’t have blamed you for missing it, not when you’re injured.”

Flower's expression softens and he looks fond. “I am proud of you. I don't know how long I'll be out but I believe in you. And I will always be here for you if you need me. Now I need to get back to my own quarters before they notice I'm missing and I get in trouble.”

He smiles that rakish grin that enchants all who see it and departs, leaving Malcolm resolved to do everything he can to succeed in Flower’s absence.


End file.
